That Night
by Hotshot
Summary: Brian Kinney takes pride in the fact that he doesn't need anyone or anything. But when his world is shaken Brian has to come to terms with the fact that maybe he can't always rely on himself.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

That Night

Hotshot

1

God, there was just so much blood. It was all pooling there on the cement. Brian was no doctor, but he knew the basics, he knew that loosing that much blood was not good for anyone. It just looked like so much. How much would Justin have to lose before he wouldn't wake up again?

He just sat there in the cold parking lot, holding that satin scarf to Justin's wound, and listening to that damned Chris Hobbes lay moaning on the ground just feet away. He was screaming for help, but they didn't seem to be coming. He thought he heard an ambulance, but it was too far away to tell.

"God!" he gasped loudly, completely unaware of what he was saying. Never since he had moved out of his parents house had Brian prayed, or even called on God, but now he found the name falling easily from his mouth.

"Help!" he yelled even more loudly. "God, someone fucking help him!"

The sound echoed through the cavern of the parking garage and there was no response. The sound of the bat connecting with Justin's head still lingered, each resonating smack making Brian's chest tighten. Brian just cradled Justin against him, holding the scarf in place. There was still so much blood. Justin was paler than usual, his breathing was slowing…

Stopping…

Stopped.

1

Brian awoke, launching his body into a sitting position as he choked on the bile trying to rise in his throat. He gasped, banging his hand roughly against his chest in an effort to be able to breathe again.

Finally he sucked in a lungful off clean, cold air, grateful to have escaped the prison of sleep. He coughed a few times, throwing the single blanket which adorned his bed off of him. He sat up at the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the ground and grasping the metal frame of the bed with his hands. He just sat there breathing, listening to the emptiness of the expansive loft just as he had listened that night.

In the distance he heard the sound of a siren, perhaps of an ambulance. He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Brian?"

He looked back over his shoulder to find Justin yawning, propping himself up on his elbows and watching him closely.

He wasn't even thinking as he reached out, letting his hand run against Justin's face in a tender gesture, his fingers stopping as they ran over the thin scar left by that goddamned bat.

Justin seemed to realize what Brian was doing as his fingers rubbed back and forth over the scar. He ducked his head away and grabbed Brian's hand in one of his own.

"Brian?" he asked again, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He pulled his hand back roughly, running it through his hair and massaging the back of his neck and shoulders where a knot of tension had settled. He felt disgusting; covered in sweat was not something that Brian Kinney did unless he was fucking something. The nauseous feeling in his stomach remained. He focused on a spot on the wall, willing the feeling away.

When Justin's hand settled on his shoulder it took all of his will power not to jump. Both of his hands began kneading at Brian's back. As good as it felt, Brian Kinney did not do backrubs.

"What are you doing?"

Justin stopped. His lips brushed against Brian's neck as he whispered, "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing." Brian insisted, "Go back to sleep."

He stood and stretched, walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He splashed cold water on his face and wiped at himself with a towel, his mind immediately jumping to the white of the towel in comparison to Justin's dress shirt. Dropping the piece of cloth to the floor he braced himself against the sink, fighting another roll of nausea. A sour taste filled his mouth and for a moment he thought he might actually be sick.

Justin was fine, he told himself. He was in the next room just feet away, trying to fall back to sleep. If he really paid attention he would probably be able to hear his light snoring.

Finally the feeling subsided. Brian raised his gaze to look at himself in the mirror. Christ, he looked old. He felt old. What had happened to that misspent youth which Justin had shown up at the tail-end of? Where was that boundless energy, that pure sex appeal that had always embodied the Brian Kinney that everyone knew?

It had been over three years since he had knowingly dwelled on Justin's bashing. Now that it was back he questioned what direction his life was headed in that would dig old scars back up.

Finally, after what must have been several minutes of standing there staring at his own reflection, staring but not really seeing, Brian made his way back to bed. Justin was rolled onto his side, facing away from Brian. His chest rose and fell with his steady breathing. It was just as it should have always been.

As Brian climbed into bed he reflected. His dream wasn't real; it hadn't happened like that. Help had come quickly and Justin had never stopped breathing. The dream had plagued him until Justin was out of the hospital and gradually died off once Justin remembered things.

He slid back under the blanket, lying closer to Justin than he had before. He dropped his arm over Justin's side in a rather protective gesture. It was something he rarely did when they were both awake.

Justin's free hand grabbed hold of his. Apparently the little twat had been waiting, not trying to fall back asleep in the least.

He leaned back into Brian's chest, "Michael's going to be okay, you know."

Brian let out a breath out through his nose to keep the sardonic laugh from escaping his mouth. Leave it to Justin to suddenly decide it was all about Michael. For the past four years everyone had been trying to convince him that his world really did revolve around Justin. Justin himself had been especially adamant about that fact at times. And now, here was Brian, accepting that fact only to have Justin suddenly change his mind.

"I know," he said slowly, tightening his grip, pressing his hand firmly to Justin's chest, claiming him in a sense. He pressed his lips to the back of Justin's neck.

"You're starting to scare me," Justin told him. He didn't move, or make any effort to look at Brian, but Brian knew he was laying there, eyes wide open, trying to look back at him.

"I really thought I lost you. All of you. When that news segment came over the radio and I saw the club when we pulled up, when I saw your mother…" The words just poured out of his mouth. "I thought to myself; I've lost him. Just like the night of your prom, I thought it was the end. When I found you…"

He stopped, strong feeling were welling up inside of him again, just as they had the night before when he had found Justin in that decrepit building.

"It's all right Brian."

"When I found you I couldn't believe it. I was so, so relieved… so completely calmed." He kissed Justin's hair, right over where the scar was. The action wasn't meaningless. He knew they were both thinking about it.

"I love you," he finished.

Justin rolled over and caught Brian in what was probably one of the most chaste, but also most meaningful, kisses ever shared between the two.

"I love you too." He replied. When he pulled back he settled into Brian's arms, wrapping his own around Brian's waist and pressing his face against his chest.

Justin was going back to sleep but Brian knew he wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight. He draped his arm over Justin's back and just stared into space, letting his fingers stroke along Justin's spine.

He stayed there, staring into the dark loft as Justin fell back to sleep. He listened to the slow, even breathing and kept his fingers on the warm, soft skin. There was something about having Justin close, right there with him, that set him free. The sense of relief at having Justin there, the fact that all of his friends had survived the bombing, that he hadn't lost a single person, it was overwhelming.

Justin was beginning to snore. Brian just smiled a little and pulled him closer. He whispered into the emptiness.

"Thank you God."

1

A/N: I think it's funny the way stories evolve. The spiritual aspect of this story definitely wasn't intended when I started writing it. Personally, I've never been to church a day in my life. But, as we know stories tend to evolve on their own. The place I had planned to end wasn't good enough so here we are.

Hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is love

Hotshot


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